


hunger for growth

by CountessCzan



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Volleyball, daisuga - Freeform, how daichi fell and stood up once more, if you squint hard enough - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 10:20:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5086828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CountessCzan/pseuds/CountessCzan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daichi looks around him and sees the quiet resignation, the casual relief in his teammates' faces. He doesn't want to look like that, ever. He wants to look frustrated. He wants to feel anger. He doesn't want to sigh and convince himself he did a good job after that defeat. He wants to grow.</p><p>or, how Sawamura Daichi felt after his middle school defeat, and how that spurned him to fan the flames of motivation.</p><p>(if you squint really, really hard, you might find some daisuga bits)</p>
            </blockquote>





	hunger for growth

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by chapter 149. I do not own Haikyuu, nor Sawamura Daichi. Also, again, if you squint REALLY hard you might spot daisuga.

The sound of the ball hitting the cold floor of the court was still painful.

Even after the whistle had sounded, signifying their team’s defeat, Sawamura didn’t care. Even after his own teammates have sighed and coaxed him into the usual after-game rituals (“You did a good job,” -- _even if you didn’t win_ , was the unspoken.), he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Even after the sweat had all but dried from his body, even after he caught a glimpse of resignation-- _relief_ \-- in his teammates’ faces, he didn’t hear anything past the torment of the ball dropping forcefully on the ground, reminding Sawamura of his failure to connect, to counter, to receive, to win.

He felt himself torn between feeling hollow or angry. Or perhaps depressed or vengeful. The feeling in his gut wasn’t disappearing. He hated himself for losing. He hated his teammates for being relieved after a loss. He hated his opponents for the mere fact that they were stronger, that they were able to accomplish what his team hadn’t. He hated that he felt all this hate. It was sickening, and it was shameful, but after their bitter defeat, Sawamura wasn’t logical.

Some rational part of him insisted, after three days of locking himself in his room, only coming out for human necessities, that being depressed over a single defeat wasn’t natural. People are designed to experience failure at least once in their lives. People are also designed to bounce back from their defeat after processing what lessons they could learn, and improve. It wasn’t normal to be _this_ depressed over one loss, however. It simply wasn’t.

So. Sawamura got up, did bits of stretching, dressed appropriately, grabbed his personal ball (abandoned in one corner, but not forgotten, never forgotten), shouted to his mother about going out, and tried to convince himself to play again. One serve, one spike, one toss, and one receive couldn’t hurt, right?

* * *

He was right. It didn’t hurt. One turned to two, then to five, then to twenty. Then to how much his muscles could pull off, how much his body could endure until his stamina was depleted and all was left is him lying outside, streaks of the setting sun illuminating the sky as pants and gasps for air left his mouth.

There was a spark of flame trying to start inside him. _If you don’t believe you can, then you truly can’t_. A self-fulfilling prophecy. He ignored the physical pain and simply relished in relieving the burn of his pulled muscles. He recalled the feelings he definitely held on from their defeat, and turned them into wood for kindling. The spark burned as he fed it with bitterness, with resolve, with anger, with motivation.

He gazed at the last bits of setting sun before the darkness washed over him. The dark may cover him for now, but Sawamura was used to the dark, and even if the warmth of the light the sun gives is extinguised, he knows it was not the last time he’ll feel it.

* * *

He chooses Karasuno High School because it’s closer to his home, and also because he could not--dare not-- forget how they soared in the skies and swallowed their opponents like the carnivorous vultures they are, like the carnivorous vultures they always will be.

The spark inside him continues to burn.

* * *

 

He is nervous, as he stands together with a soft-looking grey-haired boy and a menacing student that couldn’t possibly be a first year. He wonders why there are only three of them, applying for the volleyball club. Sawamura knows that Karasuno isn’t the same as it used to be (of course not, nothing could be the same after years) but isn’t this state a bit too sorry looking?

The boy who looks too.. innocent? Fragile? Nervous?.. steps forward and announces himself. Sugawara Koushi, setter. _It fits him_ , was what Sawamura thought. The other guy speaks, and Sawamura had to purse his lips to keep himself from grinning when Azumane Asahi, outside hitter, bites his tongue and somehow manages to erase Sawamura’s previous thoughts of him being vaguely threatening.

Then it is his turn, and he speaks with fervent determination in his voice, “I’m Sawamura Daichi, from Izumidate Middle School, I was an outside hitter!” and because he knows he had to say it, “I’ve known Karasuno was the place for me ever since I saw them play in the Nationals!” He almost forgets, and hastily adds, “It’s nice to meet you!”

He doesn’t miss the way his senpais suddenly look at each other, uneasy, and he most certainly doesn’t miss the looks of hopelessness, of the lack of motivation, of the resignation their faces paint. It is the same way his teammates looked after their defeat, and it is the same way Sawamura wishes he would never look. He steels himself, because surely, surely--

Then the captain shouts at him enthusiastically, saying that their sights are on the Nationals, and a part of Sawamura is very much relieved that there is still someone who have not given up yet.

* * *

There is no proper training regime. There is no coach. There is no guarantee of their club being able to practice in the gym. There is nothing but stagnation in the team, of the repetitive “I’m just doing it to get over it” feeling that most of his new team members wear. It was beyond humiliating to give up their time slot for other clubs simply because they were better and the volleyball club has near to zero chance of winning and shouldn’t they just chill out? It was beyond infuriating to hear news of school after school declining their proposals of practice matches, simply because they couldn’t be bothered to do so, simply because Karasuno is nothing more than a mere shadow, an unjustified simulacrum of the glory their club used to have. ( _Basically, there’s no merit in them wasting their valuable time for us_ , was how his senpai voiced it, and Sawamura tasted ashes in his tongue.)

His teammates affect him, affect Sugawara and Asahi, but he reminds himself that with determination, effort, and lots and lots of practice, he can handle this. This, this, whatever this is, was nothing compared to how he felt back in Middle School. It was nothing. Nothing.

Yet, even if he tried telling himself that, he feared that the spark inside him was slowly being dampened, was slowly being extinguished.

Sawamura is afraid. If he loses the spark, what else would be left for, and of, him?

* * *

He gazes at Sugawara, who, somewhere along the way, is now Suga to him, and sees the slightest bit of confusion in his eyes as their senpais continue their unimproving monotony. He turns to Azumane, Asahi, who dares not disrupt the repetitive familiarity for the situation their senpais unknowingly forces unto them. He looks at himself, sees his pathethic person being suffocated by the feeling of hopelessness and despair, sees himself being bound towards the ground.

It wakes him up. Crows are not supposed to be shackled. Crows are supposed to be free, and to fly. He looks again and sees that both of his comrades cannot do anything. And thus, his resolve strengthens because who else would do it if not him?

Sawamura lets his frustration wash over him, and the spark burns. He humbly, but with resolution and determination, tells his captain (not ask, no, tells, because Sawamura would do what he needs to do) that he would stay for extra practice. He is surprised but definitely happy when Asahi and Suga immediately second his motion.

He feels the grasp of the ground letting them go, setting them free. They are not yet ready to fly, but that is okay, because they are younglings and chicks with much to learn and there is still time.

* * *

There is no time.

His dedication to volleyball is frequently observed by his parents, his classmates, his friends, as he pores over book after book about the said topic. _Information is necessary in order to improve_ is what he tells himself every time his eyes so much as droop from exhaustion. The desire to improve, the hungry need to grow is what consumes him, and he lets it. It is fuel to the spark, now a proper fire, and Sawamura is pleased to note that the fire has spread to his teammates as well.

Suga’s role is the calm strategist, the careful manipulator of the game, as all setters are. Asahi’s job is to attack with blunt force, to pry open the shields that prevent them from decimating the other team’s forces. Sawamura knows it is his job too, just as he knows that Asahi’s raw power surpasses his, and he is glad to know that he does not feel envious nor jealous.

Instead, he remembers the painful thumps of each volleyball missed, of each volleyball unreceived. He reads about receiving, guarding, connecting. He carefully but steadily improves his receives. His job is to support, to defend. In a way, it keeps him grounded. He knows he should aspire to fly, like the crow he rightfully is, but for now he is content with learning how to catch his teammates should they ever forget how to fly.

* * *

They lost at the second round of Interhigh. Sawamura relieves every play they made, every play they _could have_ made, and finds himself dissatisfied.

He does not forget the feeling of defeat. He would never.

He would also never, ever, forget the whispers of the audience about their fall from grace, especially that old man who talked in an uncaringly loud voice about how “Karasuno sure has fallen rock bottom, huh”. Sawamura grinds his teeth.

 _Fallen rivals. Unflying crows_.

He looks at Suga, who has eyes red from crying and cheeks even redder from puffed up frustration, to Asahi who has a dark look in his face and continuous stream of tears dripping from his eyes, to Shimizu who has eyes full of sympathy and sadness.

He’d show them. Fallen rivals, unflying crows. It is a reminder of their weakness. Somehow, it also becomes his motivation.

* * *

The famous Coach Ukai comes back, and with him comes hope. He is a powerful coach, certainly deserving of his infamy when it comes to training, and after one particularly grueling session Sawamura finds himself smiling. He begins to wonder if he’s a masochist for enjoying it. The first years are promising, and he is glad that there are enough of them with the same fire he holds.

* * *

Even after only two freshmen are remaining, even after Coach Ukai leaves, even after three freshmen comes back (especially after that. Sawamura knows and acknowledges their strength for doing so.), even after they lose once again, Sawamura doesn’t let go of his determination to improve. If anything, he is motivated more and more, especially after seeing Nishinoya Yuu’s amazing (better) receives.

Their senpais graduate. Suga and Asahi spends a week teasing him by calling him his newfound title of Captain.

* * *

They lose again, and this time Asahi is gone, Nishinoya also.

Suga sees his worried eyes and lends him a hand, offering support that comforts Sawamura in a way he never expected to be comforted.

* * *

Their last year, and Sawamura observes the talent of their freshmen.

Hinata. Kageyama. Tsukishima. Yamaguchi. All of them are ready to soar, the former two more than the others. It is uplifting.

It is the chance that their senpai told them to hold on to. Sawamura would be damned if he lets their potential go to waste.

* * *

 

After the Interhigh, after the Spring High, after the Nationals, nobody calls them the fallen rivals or unflying crows anymore.

Karasuno has learned how to soar and reign the skies once more, and Sawamura is content with that. He flew alongside them, but always, _always_ , little bit lower than them, so he could catch them if they fall. That is the job of a captain, after all.

He has fulfilled his desires. Now that everything’s over, a part of him thinks that he can finally let the fire burn out. But seeing his teammates? No, never. He can never extinguish the fire, and he would never want it to.

“So, Daichi, what now?” asks Suga, with bright eyes and familiar, comforting smile.

Sawamura smiles back. “Guess it’s time to look for a new purpose,” he replies and walks closer to his companion as the sound of the gym’s closing door echoes back to them.

~ **Finis** ~

**Author's Note:**

> Really, I just discovered my newfound love for Daichi. This is unbeta-ed and unedited. Thank you for reading. Thoughts? Reviews would be thoroughly appreciated.


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